


three oclock in the morning

by StopitGerald



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Growing Up, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Optimism, Reminiscing, Self-Reflection, cuz thats just how naegi is, kind of canonverse, looking back, optimism for the future, remembering, slight PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 21:57:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13556394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StopitGerald/pseuds/StopitGerald
Summary: just another nightmare





	three oclock in the morning

**Author's Note:**

> if u cant tell i love writing hurt/comfort

Nightmares are quite strange; concoctions of one’s deepest fears, biggest worries, most troublesome doubts. and Naegi Makoto is no stranger to nightmares. He quite likes to think he doesn’t often struggle with them, but that would be a lie, and he is an honest to god sort of man- swears on his mother, promises, promises- never breaks them.

He’s a sit shot upright in bed with covers flouncing up off his chest- air billows them and folds them down across his thighs as his ninety-degree sitting posture disrupts their sleeping curvature. His face perspires, beads of sweat roll down his neck, down the sharp valley between his shoulder blades- and it’s a cold sweat, not hot and sticky like the glaze cross his forehead when he makes for desperate nights beneath the sheets with his lover- who lies adjacent. It’s chilled to the bone- his whole body shudders in one fluid roll.

He coughs, shakes like a lap dog during a thunderstorm and stifles a sob he hadn’t realized was breaching- coughs again to mask it. The fear of waking the form next to him- dead to the world, lost in rotations of REM- keeps him very light in his actions. He doesn’t shuffle around no matter how uncomfortable, keeps the tears to steady, breathy streams rather than the heaves of depression that barrel in his chest.

It doesn’t happen this badly all that often, he can say, relief floods his veins for a mere split atomic second because he knows this episode is sure to stave off the next one for a while. They come in waves, only does he dream so vividly about the deaths of old friends- and the possible fathomed deaths of present loves- when something comes to trigger it. A bad apple memory sprouts among his day-to-day thoughts- peppy, sunny, happy- and spoils the bunch. That’s what he is- happy- and he isn’t going to deny it no matter how many of these agonizing hypotheticals arrive to ruin his sleep.

He allows himself relax- the frightening images of his friends- his family- slaughtered in cruelty, harmed for no reason other than his suffering. He can’t imagine anyone would be that evil- that dastardly to kill and maim in the spirit of causing distress- but he remembers her. He remembers her colgate-listerine grin, sparkled like diamonds under her spotlight- he remembers her as a friend for a moment- till blood splatters her cheeks.

But no- he cannot-cannot keep thinking about that- about her- about them, the ones lost to her fire, because he knows that he will not, will not be able to go on if he focuses on it for too long. He needs rest, he deems, slides back down against the cool surface of the headboard and finds the courage to relax in the notion that it is done- it’s over. The past lies exactly where its name implies and the future is the same- his future is twinkling bright, he is ecstatic to wake to meet it every day- even if the beginning of his day, like this day, starts with tears.

He gazes downwards, to the lump at his hip. Byakuya’s head is completely submerged by the duvet, blue-gray fabric just barely encompasses golden blond strands that lie about his head like a crown- like a halo. And angel is he, perfect in his soft little breaths of sleep, completely at peace. Naegi drags the covers down ever so gently to expose face, smiles bittersweet at the twitch of nose when fabric fibers tickle it so-

It’s rare to see him so calm- but Naegi supposes it’s not as rare now as it was then- Byakuya’s grown so much, shaped by the world around him and people beside him, and he’s proud to consider himself one of- if not the most- influential persons in the other man’s life. Since the very beginning- bared teeth and hating scowl for all to see- since fallen away- gentle gazes and lingering patience. He’s no saint- hasn’t become some sort of patron to absolute, softness kindness in the last few years- but he is no longer ironclad CEO-debonair extraordinaire. He’s just Byakuya Togami, and he’s willing to be his new self just as well as he’s willing to revert, reveal his old self again- but always mature, always genuine. Byakuya doesn’t play- at least, that’s what he would say. Hatred or affection each, he never beats around the bush in his displays of either.

Naegi is inclined to think that the angel aside him is the love of his life- is correct in assuming so because there is no one on this Earth that he’d rather be beside- no one on earth he’d rather share everything so intimately with. It’s material things- their shared apartment, shared bed, and it’s plausible that ninety nine percent of the time Naegi is wearing a shirt a size too big for him- but it’s comfortable and smells like him- smells like home.

And they share ideas as well- they’re not polar opposites as some predispose them to be, no, they’re foils. Just different enough to complement each other quite nicely, physically mentally emotionally. A day has never gone by since their firsts where he is not where Byakuya needs him to be- and it goes both ways. It’s the kind of comfort they can only offer each other- suffering shared through years of together through it all.  Byakuya knows what he’s seen, and he knows how it feels- showers with concern and care accordingly.

But he’s messed it up again, an abrupt lingering-sob’s breath tugged on his throat is the last straw for Byakuya’s conscious, drags him to the waking world kicking and screaming- he shakes himself awake with a huff of air out his nose and a yawning stretch. Naegi is pleased that the other’s sleep had been so peaceful- thankful for the avoidance of another late night in which they’d _both_ suffered horrific nightmares, clinging to each other with teared eyes, 20 fingers tight in coils of blond, curls of brunet.

“You’re awake?” Is his groggy first greeting, blinks without glasses to perfect, “It’s three oclock in the morning.”

His glance to the clock on his bedside table is met with Naegi’s soft chuckle, doesn’t manage to hide the sniffle that follows. It calls concern, a sudden furrowing of eyebrows in notice of his unhappiness.

“What’s wrong?”

And he nearly laughs again because isn’t it funny how he’d been tossed confusion for his being awake at such an ungodly hour- the room pitch black sans tiny ray of streetlamp shining in his window from behind- when Byakuya had also been awake? He supposes, though, that he’d been the reason the other had woken up. Pulled angel from his sleep- as he’s prone to doing during these episodes.

And Naegi needn’t answer that precarious honey dew question, heavy from sleep in its tone. All it takes is for his frame to tremble once more, lithe shoulders shake in another unsteady breath, and Byakuya reads him like it’s what he was born to do. He shifts closer abruptly, sits upright to the fall of blankets off unclothed chest, and wraps sturdy arms around shake, shake, shaking frame. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong again- doesn’t need to now that he knows Naegi’s shivering, sobbing state. He already understands, knows exactly what has transpired in the last few moments of the poor boy’s midnight hour- terroristic holistic illusions painted from years of trauma.

They don’t let it get the best of them, Naegi’s sure of that. Never has he allowed it all- the gigantic weight of all that has happened to them- to crush their spirits. Despite it all, they are the boys they had been at tender seventeen- years of growth wear away innocence in young glistening eyes- but it’s okay- it’s okay because they still have held steadfast to the important things. Love, trust, friendship, everything the optimist of the two has always held dear, and everything the pessimist has come to accept as human nature- though it’s absolutely every fibre of his being that emanates those things for the trembling little figure in his arms.

Naegi thinks they’re both better men today than they ever would’ve been in the absence of past events, no matter the hurt they’d caused.

Even though he feels as if he has it all figured out, nevermind bad dreams- he knows who he cares about, knows his morals and values, knows when to work and when to rest- he still can’t help but be absolutely limp in his lover’s arms, begs his tears dried by soft plush of lips kissing them away from fragile cheekbones. He shudders, tightens grips on lean biceps as he’s drug into pajama pants lap, and those lips move to the top of his head in a soft comforting lingering press to his scalp.

“Sorry,” He sniffs, brushes cheek 'gainst shoulder top as he completely sinks into Byakuya’s hold. Those arms pull from tiny hands’ grasp, wrap steady around his back to allow his rest against them, weight supported by tone chest, lengthy arms completely. He leans back into that grip on him, looks up at Byakuya with tear stained, dried salty cheeks and pucker pink lips, sighs out of them in a soft shake of breath. He needs to get ahold of himself, stop his crying to allow Byakuya a proper nights sleep.

“Nothing to apologize for,” his voice is muffled by brunet tresses covering his lips and nose, tickles his porcelain complexion as he gently shifts face to lay cheek across the top of Naegi’s head. He feels so small- so minuscule and thus his problems shrink with him- even if he’s made peace with his demons, even if he lives so happily alongside his family- its refreshing to find such comforting adoration in simple three am arms round his back and soft breath teasing the roots of his hair.

“Let’s go back to sleep.”

Byakuya hums, nods once in his pull away from his resting against Naegi, and promptly pulls the boy to straddle- hands rest on itty bitty waist and he’s still so little inside strong grip- stronger gaze that lingers within electric blues. God, that stare, he’s melting, tears forgotten as he smiles in return to his other half

He knows what the other man wants, is quite glad to grant it because- he’s shifting himself to lay his lower half between Byakuya’s legs, rests his chest against abdomen and head to hear beating heart loud and clear, sharp clavicle presses to his forehead- he cannot fathom any sleeping position he loves more. Lying on top of the other man preserves his sense of neediness- he’s an incessant snuggle of cheek against sternum until blond’s hand rests upon his lower back to hold him closer, rubs thumb in small circles underneath white pj t-shirt.

And Naegi thinks himself grateful for such a love as one that understands how he feels- endearing comfort derived from their shared years of growth. Oh, how they’d grown- the lot of them- and he’s proud- thinks himself the luckiest man in the world. And Byakuya’s hand nestles in brunet, strokes flyayways from ear’s snare. He’s glad to have grown- but still has never- will never- outgrown the figure he sleeps upon- will never outgrow six-foot posture and hands much larger than his own.

You can’t outgrow love, he notes, searches aimlessly for Byakuya’s free hand with his own. They meet in a soft intertwine of digits warm, soft, hushed- caramel without the sticky-

And he’s so glad of the fact.


End file.
